by Bonnie Vanak
Emily jumped up from the couch, hugged herself, the floral dress swinging about her ankles delicately. “It’s silly, really.”
“Nothing you want is silly,” he said quietly. “Anything you wish for, let me try to grant it. It’s part of my duty as Kallan to fulfill your wishes.”
“I want to eat with my pack one more time.”
He showed no surprise. “When did you last eat with them?”
Shame flushed her cheeks. Remembering how they had driven her away, she muttered, “It’s been a long while. They will object, I warn you.”
Raphael took both her hands into his, rubbing his long fingers over her mustard-yellow gloves. “Then I ask only this. Take off these gloves.”
Dismay and shock filled her as he began tugging them off. The protest died in her throat as he removed the gloves, leaving only the thin layer of sterile surgical gloves. Raphael clasped her hands.
Breath caught in her throat as she waited for a reaction. He showed none.
“Emily, I told you, you can’t hurt me,” he said quietly. “I want you to eat with your pack wearing only these.”
Misery filled her. The pack wouldn’t allow it. They didn’t want her near, even layered with protection. They’d chase her away again, only this time Raphael would witness her humiliation. Yet deep inside, she longed for one little bit of contact with them. I just want to be like everyone else. Why can’t I be like them?
“They won’t let me,” she whispered, removing her hands and donning the heavy gloves once more.
“Then I’ll insist.”
The steely look in his dark eyes and the determined set of his jaw filled her with hope. Maybe Raphael could make them see her as they once had—not someone to be shunned, but someone who belonged and was part of their family.
A sound between a sob and a laugh fled her as she pointed to his feet. “You’d best put shoes on, then. Urien won’t take you very seriously in those.”
The hard smile he gave her sent a shiver down her spine. This was the Kallan, a male who would not be brooked, whose power shone through no matter what he wore. “I think not. He’ll take me seriously. Bunny slippers or not. Very seriously.”
Sounds of silverware clinking drifted out through the opened door as they approached the house. The long-dead flower garden lined the house, and the rolling fields of green grass were waist high. It was such a pretty scene, but it had become a nightmare to her since her father’s death. Potted geraniums flanking the steps were brittle with decay.
The wood bird feeders were empty. No seed had been placed there. The glassed hummingbird feeders were filled, but she saw no birds.
Raphael quietly ascended and stopped. He tilted his head, his expression concentrated. “Listen.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly. No birds, no squirrels, nothing. Not even insects.” His eyes narrowed. “Odd. In the forest where your cottage is, there’s plenty of birds and wildlife. But not here.”
A shiver raced down her spine, but Emily shrugged it off. “The pack probably shapeshifts so much that their wolf forms have scared them off.”
His touch made the hummingbird feeder swing. “Even hummingbirds? Chere, in the past has your wolf form ever frightened away the hummingbirds?”
Her palms went clammy, and she rummaged for an excuse. “Life hasn’t been the same since my father died. The animals probably sense it.”
Raphael’s jaw tensed. “Perhaps. Let’s go in.”
Emily hung back, her stomach in knots. He turned, held out a palm.
“Em? Come on. It’s all right, little one.”
When she hesitantly put her hand into his, he turned it over and brought her glove to his lips. She could not feel the kiss he brushed against her knuckles. How she longed to feel his mouth against her pale hands that never saw light, never felt anything but covering!
“One day, you’ll trust me enough to take these off and know my touch,” he said quietly.
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
They entered the living room, with its hardwood floors, polished tables and vases of hothouse flowers. Lemon-yellow walls brought a touch of cheerfulness to the room, but the air seemed thick and heavy. She barely had a chance to wonder about it when Raphael steered her toward the enormous dining room. Seated at the lace-draped tables was her family. They dug into heaping platters of fresh sausage and chattered.
Emily swallowed hard as the entire pack stopped talking, turned their heads and stared. Raphael ignored their rudeness, drew her forward.
“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer of breakfast, Bridget,” he told her. His eyes were stony, his jaw set.
Her draicaron resembled a warrior who could slay with a single icy glare. Surely they would not turn him away as they had done to her. Not the Kallan.
Urien paced over to them. A heartbeat of silence passed as he approached, keeping a distance. He did not look at Emily. His gaze focused on Raphael.
“This is a bad idea, bringing her here.”
Wincing at the fact that her own Alpha could not even call her by name, she stood her ground. Raphael didn’t even blink.
“She has a name. Emily. And she will eat here.”
The two males stared at each other, bristling with tension until Urien dropped his gaze, studying the floor. “The sun porch,” he said curtly. “You may eat out there.”
“No, we’re not being confined to a section of the room where she can’t interact with you. Emily is not a prisoner and she will no longer be treated as if she should be incarcerated. You’re her family, and you will start treating her as family.”
Emily didn’t need Raphael to fight her battles, and she gathered her courage. She remembered one of the slang words Raphael had taught her. “Yes, Urien, get with the program and stop being such a tool.”
A proud smile touched her dracairon’s face as Urien looked shocked and the others looked puzzled. As Raphael guided her toward a table near the others, she heard Bridget whisper, “Did she call him a fool?”
Emily whirled. “No, I called him a tool. It’s slang for idiot.”
Inside her mind, she heard her mate chuckle softly, felt his pride in her. Emily sat in the chair Raphael pulled out. Even as he took the seat opposite her, his gaze focused on Urien near the lace-curtained window. The Kallan radiated such power and authority, even Urien seemed reluctant to cross him. Suddenly she realized what a champion she had on her side. With his shoulder-length hair, scrutinizing look and stern expression, he looked as if he could take on the world on her behalf and win.
The idea made her relax and look around with interest. But none of her family, even those who had expressed pity upon finding out her curse, looked her way.
She was as invisible as if she never existed. Emily lifted her chin. She pretended none of it mattered, even as her chest felt hollow with grief. Raphael had granted her dearest wish.
A wish that would never come true. Her own pack wouldn’t accept her. Never again.
A pretty, solemn-faced woman with curly brown hair held out a plate of blood sausage to them. Maureen, a second cousin. Raphael helped himself and then nodded toward Emily.
Emily picked up the serving forks. She looked into Maureen’s face. Her kin. Once, a friend who laughed with her and amused Emily with her whimsical stories.
“Hi, Mo.” Emily smiled, using the familiar nickname.
No response. No friendliness showed now on Maureen’s face. Maureen looked stricken as if Emily were a wriggling serpent ready to strike.
Emily helped herself, ignoring the lump in her throat. The food would stick in her throat, but she’d force herself to eat, pretending all was as it had been, long ago when she’d been welcome here.
As she replaced the serving fork, her hand brushed against Maureen’s fingers. Her cousin gasped and staggered backward several steps. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head.
A heavy thud followed as Maureen dropped to the floor, the platter
of blood sausage spilling over her, the china plate shattering. She jerked violently once and lay still.
Shock rippled through Emily. She sprang to her feet to aid her cousin, but Urien blocked her path. Bridget shrieked, pointing a finger like an accusing judge.
“The death touch! She killed Maureen! She touched her. Even with the glove, she has killed our Maureen!”
“Stop blathering,” Raphael said mildly, putting himself protectively in front of Emily. “She could be just stunned. I’ll see to her.”
Urien blocked his view. “No, Kallan. I told you this was a mistake. Leave us to our grief and our dead. Must more of our people die for you to realize how dangerous Emily is? How much more of this can we take?”
Anger glittered in his blue eyes. Urien’s finger shook as he pointed at her. “Get out of our sight, cursed one. Leave us, before you kill any more of our family and bring your curse down on us!”
Emily couldn’t bear it. She fled, hearing Raphael’s cold voice. “We’re leaving, Urien. But I warn you, I’ll be back. Something isn’t right here, and I intend to find out exactly what.”
Chapter 10
T he screen door banged behind her as she bolted out of the house, down the porch steps. Her heart was shattering, her grief too wrenching for tears. She tore across the meadow, racing for the protection of her beloved woods.
Ignoring Raphael calling softly to her in her mind, she ran, until she left the pack territory and crossed into the property of the abandoned farmhouse next door. She passed the house’s sagging porch, the weathered and cracked windowpanes staring at her like ghostly eyes.
Emily, talk to me. Come back.
Go away, Raphael. I am nothing but death.
Sunlight dappled the few remaining leaves on the trees. She drew deeper into the forest. Pine mingled with the earthy scent of undergrowth. A crow called overhead and flew away as squirrels scampered up the tree trunks. The air was loamy with the scent of damp leaves. Insects hummed overhead in the trees, and she could glimpse the mountains peeking through the forest as gray clouds drifted overhead, allowing intermittent rays of sun to peek through.
Emily finally reached the oak tree where her aunt once planted mistletoe long ago. A twist of vine wrapped around an overhead branch, plump with berries. They might as well have been on the waning moon, for she had no means to harvest them. No gold knife.
Beneath the shady hollow, she sank to the ground. Her gaze lifted upward at the white berries dangling out of reach.
I killed my father. I killed Helen. And now Maureen.
Memories pierced like arrows. She and Maureen picking blackberries, their lips stained with purple juice. Hanging white cotton sheets on the clothesline and inhaling the fresh, sunny scent. Shifting into wolves, running with the moon. Her eyes squeezed shut as her mouth opened. A silent scream fled her lips as she rocked back and forth, hugging herself.
She must discover what the prophecy said. Why had she been accursed? What wrong had she done, what evil? All she’d ever wanted from life was to cherish those around her. Not hurt them.
For a long while, she sat on the ground, hugging her knees, holding her emotions at bay. Her throat squeezed tight as she tried to find solace in familiar territory. Yet it did not offer the comfort she’d found in the past. Clouds scuttled overhead, fully blocking the sun. Dismay filled her anew as she sensed the air shift. A sharp breeze tossed stray tendrils of her hair.
Emily hugged herself, shivering. In her thin cotton dress, she’d dressed for the warmth of the homestead, not to seek refuge in the forest. She loathed wearing heavy clothing and wanted only to be free. Yet for the first time, she felt cold.
Or was it the icy knowledge she’d killed again, even inadvertently?
Leaves crunched in the near distance. Startled, she whipped her head around. Raphael’s scent floated toward her.
“Em, come out. Talk to me,” he said quietly. “I want to help.”
She could not evade him. Emily stood and brushed leaves off her dress as he came into sight. In his trousers, scuffed boots, sweater and black leather jacket, he looked every inch the formidable rebel Kallan. But only gentleness shone in his dark eyes. In his arms, he bore a thick down quilt and a picnic basket.
“If you won’t come to me, then I’ll wait with you. Since you didn’t eat, I brought breakfast for both of us.”
His soothing voice lowered her guard. Raphael set down the quilt and the picnic basket. Suddenly all the fight went out of her. Hysteria rose in her throat.
“I killed my cousin. I loved her, and it’s my fault. I only wanted to be with my pack again, but now someone else has paid the price. Why is this happening to me?” She gulped down a breath. He only watched her with his brilliant, steady gaze.
“I need to read the prophecies to find out why I am cursed and condemned to die, but I can’t read them because you need to be calm and unemotional to decipher the language. If I had the mistletoe berries, I could smear them over the words and all would become clear, but the mistletoe, I can’t cut it until nightfall, and it doesn’t matter because I don’t have a gold knife. I ruined the knife, like I’m ruining my life. Maybe I should just surrender, and let you execute me, for the good of the pack and our race.”
Her voice broke. She bit her lip, fighting against the welling tears, wondering why she’d revealed so much to him.
Raphael shrugged out of his leather jacket. Gooseflesh sprang out on his bare arms as he draped it over her shoulders. “You’re shivering.”
Encased by the warm leather, she clutched the lapels. He couldn’t tolerate cold weather, but he took care of her needs over his own. Maybe it was finally time for her to reach out to the one foresworn to be her mate and forget about her past, and those who had betrayed her.
He reached for the golden dagger on his belt. Silently he unsheathed it and handed it to her, hilt side first.
Emily could only stare at the sacred weapon.
“We’ll wait for nightfall together. But you’ll need this to cut the mistletoe.”
“It’s only fit for your hands. Not mine,” she whispered.
He stepped forward, took her palm and opened it. Raphael placed the dagger’s hilt into it. “You have a great need of it. Take it. Your needs are my own.”
The words were formal, contrasting sharply with the gentleness of his husky voice. She took the Scian, tested its weight and with the dagger’s heaviness, her spirits lifted.
Could she trust him enough with her life? Raphael looked down at her, his expression unreadable as a shaft of sunlight dappled his hair. His mouth was firm, unmoving, and he simply waited.
Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith, even when you’re most afraid, Emily told herself.
She handed back the blade. “Thank you for the honor,” she whispered. “It means more than you realize. But it’s no use. The berries are ripe, but the moonlight is too weak and I’m too emotional to read the words they will reveal.” A ripple of fear raced through her. “I can’t foresee the future. Or read the prophecies. I don’t know why I must die. What I did to offend Aibelle and suffer this curse.”
He made no move toward her, but waited patiently, as if taming a wild animal who feared him. “You’re not cursed, Emily. I seriously doubt you are, and I have my doubts about your family. If Maureen is dead, and I say if, it wasn’t from your touch. I want proof.”
“The only proof lies with our goddess, Aibelle. Only she has answers. I have none.”
A deep sigh fled him. “Then I’ll go visit the Other Realm and ask her.”
Her breath hitched. “You would do that for me? Dare to risk it?”
His gaze was solemn. “You’re my mate, the other half of my spirit. I only wish you would stop evading me, and trust me.”
A heartbeat of silence passed. Finally she jerked her head forward. Tension seemed to ease in his wide shoulders.
“I wanted…I want to trust you. I’m afraid. So many of my family has turned against me. I’m all a
lone. Can I be sure you won’t be the one who will hurt me most of all?”
“I would never hurt you, chere,” he said softly.
“My pack deserted me,” she whispered. “I need my family, but they don’t want me near them. I can’t belong anymore.”
Raphael looked away. “I no longer live with my pack, my family. My brothers stay with me sometimes, and I visit the family house, but never for long. My father loves me, but said the power struggle between us would be too great if I stayed. I know what it’s like, chere. I once formed a pack of un-bonded males, taught them how to fight, but it wasn’t the same. It is possible to have your family about you, and love you, but still be apart.”
“But your family doesn’t fear your touch. They don’t run away from you because they’re terrified of what you’ve become.” Emily’s gaze dropped to the hated gloves covering her hands. “I wish I could touch someone and not be afraid of hurting them, or see the fear in their eyes. My touch is poison. Anyone I touch with my hands dies. Just for once I wish someone could reach out to me and not be afraid. Just for once I’d like to feel normal, like everyone else. You can’t understand because people respect you. You’re worthy of their respect.”
His jaw tightened as he glanced away. “If I had knowledge, and could read the prophecies, I could help you. I can’t read the ancient language of the prophecies. Those words are preserved only for the purebloods.” A bitter laugh rumbled from his chest. “I’m worthy of respect only because people fear me because I can take their lives. I know spells and ancient words because I memorized them when Aibelle imparted me with the knowledge when I became Kallan.”
For the first time, she saw past the guard he kept up, saw the shadows in his eyes. She saw him struggle with his pride.
“I’m not like you. I have no knowledge of the Old Ways, or the language, or traditions denied to my family because we were looked down upon as inferior. But I’ll help you in any way I can, even if it means risking all and going to Aibelle to ask for help.”
Her soft heart turned over. “Anyone can acquire the knowledge, Raphael. My family, and others, kept it secret to keep themselves elevated above other Draicon. They said they wanted to keep the hierarchy pure, the bloodlines clean, but they isolated themselves by doing so. And they lack something you have in every cell—courage.”
